


Merry Christmas, Jeeves

by leaper182



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, P G Wodehouse - Jeeves and Wooster series
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A very big thank you goes out to Shiplizard, Kaytee4ever, Gehayi, and ames for their hard work and beta-reading.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Jeeves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PurpleFluffyCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/gifts).



> A very big thank you goes out to Shiplizard, Kaytee4ever, Gehayi, and ames for their hard work and beta-reading.

It was with a song in my heart that I headed out from the flat that morning, little knowing what would happen next.

Don't get me wrong, I'm up for adventure as much as the next chap, and usually, my adventures, while hair-raising while I live through them, on reflection can be rather amusing. But by far, this was the most serious yet.

I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? One never really knows where to start these yarns, and how to unravel them and whatnot. Bung in too much explanation of the dramatis whatzit, and the birds for which this is old hat will roll their eyes and set down the volume unread, and then where are you? However, if one were to go lightly on the details, new readers will scratch their heads and wonder who is that, and what's going on, what?

The Christmas season had started with something of a bang that year, and I was planning to go full-out. I'd already managed to grab some hot stuff for fellows at the Drones club, and I'd sent along the usual tidings of comfort and joy to my sister and her brood. But, this year, I could not get Jeeves the item he wanted.

Jeeves is relatively easy to shop for. Bung in the Spinoza, and you'll find him curled up on the sofa for hours on end. Well, as much as the man ever curls, at any rate. Even in repose, Jeeves rather reminds me of a marble statue. He frequently requests such treasures for his birthday, and I've found in years past that bookshops were always selling something about Spinoza, or by Spinoza or something. Spinoza's a rather... pro-something fellow. It starts with a p. Perfunctory? Portentous? The one where the output is staggering and fans are apt to eat up the latest morsel as though they'd spent years in the Sahara without anything to snack on but some second-rate soupy romances. Prolific! That's the baby. He's rather a prolific fellow, that Spinoza chap.

Still, this past year, I'd rather learned my lesson from the last time I'd set foot in a bookshop. What with Florence Craye cornering me and giving Stilton Cheesewright the push, and the business tycoons trying to broker that sale, and the fancy dress party where I went as Abraham Lincoln and got my whiskers burnt off by a bolt of lightning, I'd rather gained an aversion to the places. Bookshops, not lightning. Lightning's all well and good, but it would be even better the further it is away from the Wooster person.

Given my sudden aversion to bookshops and their potential for yet another disaster leading to engagement -- which was rather unfortunate, as it forced me to ask Jeeves to pick up the more recent Agatha Christies that ever hove into view -- I decided to forgo the usual Christmas book this year.

Instead, I wanted to do something rather special. We'd been through thick and thin -- Jeeves had even removed all the pages in the club book about me, pretty much sealing us together like sardines in a tin for as long as we both shall live -- and I really wanted to commemorate the occasion. If I also happened to want to give my gentleman's personal gentleman something that showed my appreciation of him, then that was all well and good.

I'd gotten the idea when I'd checked my pocket watch and had found that the ticker had finally gone the way of all flesh. No amount of shaking or cajoling could start the thing running again, though it did a rummy sort of jingling sound that it hadn't made before.

I legged it to the store where Jeeves had picked up this model, and after conversing with the owner, an old bird who looked reminded me rather uncomfortably of a vulture, I eyed a few specimens that looked like hot stuff. I picked up a rather natty one for self that I think even Jeeves would have approved of. He's always disapproving of my choice of clothing, but I rather thought he wouldn't disapprove of a silver pocket watch for the young master's waistcoat.

It was then that I spied it.

The article in question was a pocket watch (not surprising, given where I was and all that), but in gold. It looked solid and sturdy, rather like whoever made it had spied Jeeves out walking one day -- though when they would have seen him is beyond me. He never seems to leave the flat, though I imagine he must in order to make necessary arrangements for dinner or escaping aunts and whatnot. Said watchmaker must have seen Jeeves out and about thought to himself, "Why that's the sort of chap that would be a fine model for a pocket watch, what?"

I swiped it, popped open the lid, and saw the simple face of the watch, the second hand ticking away. The inside cover was bare, and it appeared to me to be the perfect place to engrave something.

"Do you require assistance, sir?" the shop owner asked, materializing at my elbow and giving me quite the start. His voice, thin and reedy, hadn't improved since I'd entered.

"Ah, yes, rather," I said after I'd recovered what few wits I had. "How much to get this little chap engraved?" I offered him the little chap in question, and he squinted at it, rather threatening himself with blindness.

"It depends on what you wish inscribed, sir," he answered. We chatted a bit more, going back and forth about price, and then I realized a bit too late that I'd no idea at all what to have inscribed. I mean, most of what I had thought of wouldn't jolly well fit on the lid, and anything short I could think of was hardly the sentiment I wanted to show to my gentleman's personal gentleman.

The old bird shot me a dark look, but rung up the purchase for the pair of pocket watches, and with my wallet considerably lighter, I oiled out and headed for home.

That having been a few days ago, I donned the chapeau, armed myself with an umbrella, and nodded to Jeeves. "I'm off to finish some shopping, Jeeves. I should be back in a jiff."

"Very good, sir," he replied, straightening my tie. "Will you be taking luncheon here?"

"Yes, I rather think so," I said. "Toodle-pip."

And off I went. It didn't take long to find the watchmaker again, though he seemed to be even more constipated than usual, if constipated is the word I want, and when I presented the watch and the message I wanted engraved, he nodded and promised the purchase would be ready by the next morning. I thanked him and biffed off home.

Do you ever have a rummy feeling that all is not right with the w.? That somehow, the guardian angel is trying to tap on your shoulder, but you don't hear him until you've gotten your foot trapped in a pothole, taken a nasty spill, and torn a hole in your trousers? That didn't happen to me, but the rummy feeling rather persisted like a pall, if pall is the word I want, over the proceedings.

I ankled up to the flat, and opened the door, ready to what-ho Jeeves and tell him the shopping venture had been a rousing success when I found him standing by the telephone, staring at the wall as though something interesting had been on it. I glanced at the wall, wondering if something had actually been there, but alas. It was just a wall.

"Jeeves?"

He didn't answer. His hand was resting on the telephone, as if he'd just put it down. Which he very well could have, of course.

I frowned, feeling myself get worried. "Jeeves?"

My saying his name seemed to rouse him. "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not hear you come in."

"You didn't?" I asked, more than a little surprised. "I'm not usually that quiet."

"Indeed, sir," Jeeves agreed in a rummy sort of voice. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have received some distressing news. My presence is needed urgently."

"Distressing news? Needed urgently?" I parroted. "What's going on?"

Jeeves shook the melon. "I would not wish to burden you with my troubles, sir."

"Burden away, Jeeves!" I replied whole-heartedly. "How many times have I come to you with mine? Misery loves company and all that. Come, out with it."

"My elder sister has passed away, sir," Jeeves said. If he could sound anymore Jeeves-like, I should be astounded to find out how. When I hear that a relative has died, I find that I get choked up. Not so with Jeeves, it seemed. "My siblings require assistance with the preparations."

"Lead on, Jeeves," I said firmly. "Pack the clothes and don't spare the black."

The sou'easterly brow of Jeeves' lifted an eighth of an inch. "Begging your pardon, sir, but your presence is not required," he said.

That rather gave me the pip. I mean to say, this was perhaps the one time that Jeeves found himself needing a friendly e., and my presence not needed? We were master and servant, of course, but I had thought that we had begun to be friends, at least. "I say, Jeeves, what? Surely, you can't mean that."

"I did not mean that your presence was unwanted, sir," Jeeves explained. "Merely that it was unnecessary for you to change your plans in order to attend."

I waved a hand airily. "Think nothing of it, Jeeves. It's not like fellow Drones are breaking down my door to invite me along to parties and whatnot." I cleared my throat. "Besides, Jeeves. You've been there to fish me out of the soup, what? I rather want to return the favor, if you know what I mean."

Jeeves eyed me for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all, Jeeves."

After a bit of packing, Jeeves drove us to a smartish-looking house not far from East Dulwich, and when we pulled up to the residence, I found myself rather curious. Jeeves had said very little on the drive there, and considering the circs, I could hardly blame him. While he usually sports the look of a stuffed frog when he's feeling particularly pipped, I've had the experience of years with Jeeves in my service to tell his moods, and I could tell that this was one mood I didn't like the look of, if you catch my meaning.

For years, Jeeves has been the rock on which I lean, and for good reason. For every scrape and mishap, for every bowl of soup the young master has found himself embroiled in, Jeeves has been there to scoop him out again, sometimes whether said y. m. liked it or not. Sure, we've had our differences -- two men of iron will living under the same roof will inevitably come to verbal blows sooner or later -- and there have been times when I've wanted to prove that I could save myself without needing help from Jeeves, but as invariably happens, there comes a time when I need his help. It was only fair that I help fish him out of this soup, though how a relative now singing with the choir invisible would prove to be soupy was well beyond my ken. All I knew was that Jeeves was not his usual efficient self, and that was enough to concern me not a little.

The house which we pulled up before I diverted myself, if diverted is the word I want, was a smartish-looking house, as stated previously. Not very large, but if this was the elder sister's abode to which Jeeves had alluded to previously, it made a certain amount of sense. Jeeves, I am given to understand, comes from sturdy middle-class stock, and as a result, doesn't have a tree full of relatives ready to die off and leave the children with pots of the happy cabbage to make the living easier. Large mansions with sprawling estates are not what the Jeeveses are made of, alas, though if brains were money, Jeeves would be the richest man in the world.

Jeeves pulled up a bit after tea time, and I legged it to the doorstep, ready to knock on the door and oil things over until Jeeves himself came with the luggage. That was when the door suddenly opened, revealing a tall man, with dark blue eyes and combed, if not slick, black hair. I recognized him immediately, or as close to recognition as one can get without having met this person before, due to his noble-looking nose. While Jeeves' was charmingly crooked, this fruit's nose looked as though it had been soundly broken in a boyhood tussle.

Upon taking in Bertram Wooster, his eyebrows rose. "Excuse me, sir," he said slowly, "can I help you?"

"Ah, yes," I said, finding myself a bit tongue-tied now that I was confronted with someone obviously of the Jeeves clan. Jeeves had mentioned siblings. Perhaps this was a brother. "I'm Bertie Wooster. Jeeves is my valet." I offered the hand with a friendly sort of smile. "He's finding a place to park now, actually."

If the man had looked politely confused before, he looked positively bewildered now. "I see," he said in a rummy tone that clearly said he didn't. Thankfully, he shook my hand. "I'm sorry that you were inconvenienced, sir--"

I shook the onion. "Think nothing of it, my good man. As soon as Jeeves said he had urgent business, I couldn't stand by and let him biff off alone." I peered inside, or what I could see of the inside. "I say, sorry to trouble you, but it's getting rather chilly..."

The man gave a visible start, and he opened the door wider, stepping back to let me in. "Oh, dear, I've forgotten my manners. I'm very sorry, sir. Please, come in. I'll have my wife bring some tea."

I shot him one of the sunniest smiles I could muster under the circs and oozed inside. The interior, unlike the outside, was actually rather colorful and bright. No doubt, Jeeves would have disapproved of some of the items papering the walls. I found myself liking the late elder Jeeves quite a bit, if this was her handiwork.

The Jeeves I encountered took my coat and hat much like his brother would, hanging them up in the closet along with my scarf, and having that done, he biffed off further into the house.

Left a bit stymied by my host's departure, I hadn't noticed Jeeves shimmer in until he said, "There you are, sir."

I jumped a bit, and looked back at him askance, if that's the word I want. "You really shouldn't creep up on people like that, Jeeves. I nearly had a fit."

"I do apologize, sir," Jeeves coughed apologetically, sounding like a sheep on a distant mountaintop who's eaten the last of the grass. "I will endeavor to move more noisily in future."

"The most extraordinary thing's just happened," I told him. "I think I might have met your twin. Well, not quite your twin, as his nose was broken instead of crooked. Interrogated me, invited me in, took my coat and hat, and biffed off."

Jeeves nodded. "That is my brother, Edward. He is usually more attentive to guests, but considering the circumstances, a lapse is easily forgiven."

I nodded. "Quite right. It's not everyday that one loses a beloved relative, after all." I frowned. "Is he a valet?"

"No, sir," Jeeves said. "He raises steeplechase horses in Lincolnshire."

"That's not all he does," a new voice announced, soft and warm like a spot of brandy, with a hint of an accent, though I couldn't say what it was, for the life of me. A moment later, a slip of a woman wandered in, her hair a curly chestnut brown, her eyes large and dark, her cheeks a-rose, and her eyes a bit red. She was carrying a tea tray, and when she spied Jeeves, she smiled. "Reginald."

"Bridget," Jeeves nodded in greeting. "Mister Wooster, this is my brother's wife, Bridget formerly of the O'Reilly family. Bridget, this is my employer, Mister Bertram Wooster."

I tried to ignore the _frisson_ that ran through me when Jeeves said my first name. It's not everyday that he says it, after all, and when he does, I always find myself surprised.

Bridget, on the other h., arched an eyebrow at Jeeves. "So formal, Reginald?" She turned to me. "Please, call me Bridget. The rest of the family does."

"All right, then, Bridget," I said with a nod. "Only if you call me Bertie. I'm here as Jeeves' friend, after all."

"If you'll pardon me, sir," Jeeves said, clearing his throat. "I'll take our things to one of the guest rooms and then see to dinner preparations." Then he shimmered out, our suitcases in tow.

I turned back to Bridget, only to find her frowning after Jeeves. "Is he usually like that?" she asked, finally turning back to me.

"Oh, rather," I said, putting a good amount of oil into it. "He's an absolute marvel."

She nodded slowly, but then she smiled up at me. "Why don't I introduce you to the rest of the family, then? The children are all out on a walk with my brother, so you'll be spared the noise, at least."

"Oh, lovely," I said, not quite sure what else I could say without sounding rude.

She led the way down a hall and into a kitchen that wasn't much bigger than the one at the flat, and there stood the Edward I had met a few moments ago, along with a taller woman quite possibly close to Jeeves' height, she chopping some whatnot on a cutting board, and Edward peeling something in the sink. A blond gentleman was seated at a small table, watching the proceedings with a bemused eye, if bemused is the word I want, and when he saw me, he visibly started, nearly upsetting the table.

"Edward," Bridget said, a hint of steel entering her voice, "you're not murdering those poor carrots again, are you?"

"Yes, dear," Edward looked over his shoulder at her with a smile one usually doesn't see in married couples, but when he saw me, he blinked. "Oh, dear. I left you on the step, didn't I?"

I shook the bean. "Think nothing of it, old fruit. Jeeves showed up, and your lovely wife was kind enough to show the way."

"Jeeves?" The woman at the sink said, sounding confused, and when she turned to look at me, she blinked. The Jeeves blood had bred true into their sister, though instead of a head of black hair, she had gotten the goods in the way of brown curls, and her blue eyes were paler than her brothers'. The Jeeves nose, instead of being sharp and masculine, only seemed a little too large for her delicate features. However, the light of intelligence shown forth in her eyes, and that was more than likely to make up for the deficit. "Oh, dear."

"Oh, dear," is one of those phrases that's a bit difficult to come up with an answer to. In previous occasions, I've mentioned "you" and "ha" and "oh", but it seems I've made a bit of a bloomer in omitting this phrase from the list. Usually, when someone is addressing the Wooster person with "oh, dear," they're usually saying something along the lines of "oh, dear, not this dratted blister again!" or "oh, dear, lock up the silver and protect the china. It's the Wooster menace come again!" Being on the receiving end of such tidings does tend to bring a fellow down, but the Woosters bear up under the strain, and I daresay, we keep the stiff upper lip quite well.

However, on this occasion, it seemed that "oh, dear" was a precursor to "oh, dear, this is the gentleman we need to offer tea, and we've completed bungled the affair," because as soon as she uttered the phrase, she set down the butcher knife she'd been using, as well as the poor unfortunate whatnot she'd been dicing, and turned to me. "Is there anything we can get for you, sir?"

I shook the bean again. "No, no. I'm here as Jeeves' friend, not as his employer."

Instead of looking relieved at the sentiment, she frowned. "Jeeves?"

I blinked at her. "Why, yes. Jeeves."

She continued to look confused, but that was the moment that Jeeves shimmered in, glancing at Bridget with something almost approaching a hard look -- if Jeeves has ever given anyone a hard look in the past -- and approached the center of things. He nodded to Edward, and leaned down to kiss his sister on the cheek. "Elizabeth. I trust you're doing well."

Elizabeth smiled a little. "Hello, Reggie. Yes, quite well. And look who managed to join us." She glanced at the blond gentleman, who'd been watching the scene with marked interest.

Jeeves turned and nodded. "Mister Mitchell. A pleasure, as always."

Mitchell stood and nodded as well. He'd been ready to reach out and shake Jeeves' hand, but something made him stop short. "You know that you can call me Charles, don't you?" he asked in a soft voice I wouldn't have expected of him.

There was a distinct twitch at the left corner of Jeeves' mouth, and he nodded again. "Forgive me, sir." He turned back to me. "Mister Wooster, I believe you have already met my brother, Edward Jeeves. This is my sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Mitchell, and my brother-in-law, Charles Mitchell. Edward, Elizabeth, Charles, this is my employer, Mister Bertram Wooster."

I nodded to each of them, throwing in one of my sunniest for good measure. "What ho."

"Have you been shown to your room yet, Mister Wooster?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, not yet, actually," I replied.

"Then how about I do so?" Elizabeth said, undoing the apron and hanging it up on a peg near the door. Before I could object, she was doing a good-ish impression of Jeeves' habitual shimmering, and led the way back down the hall towards the front of the house, and then up a flight of stairs that creaked and groaned as we moved. "You're going to have to double-up with Reggie, I'm afraid," she said. "There isn't enough space for everyone to have a room to themselves. A number of our aunts and uncles should be arriving over the next few days."

"Quite a lot of those, I presume?" I asked, finding myself curious. "I know that there's an aunt who lives in Maiden Eggesford, and an uncle Charlie."

She quirked an eyebrow over one slender shoulder before stopping in front of a door. "You've met them?" she asked.

I shook the melon. "Jeeves has only mentioned them in passing, really."

Elizabeth frowned, and then opened the door. "This'll be your room for the time being. If you need anything, feel free to ask any of us."

"Of course, thank you," I said, nodding and looking around the room. "I say, what was this room?"

Elizabeth paused on the threshold, and looked inside. "It used to be Edward's and Reginald's room when they were growing up," she said, her voice softer than before.

"I don't see how," I replied, frowning around at the flowers papering the walls. "I thought this was your sister's residence?"

"It was, but she took it over from our father when he passed away some years ago," Elizabeth explained. "This might have been Mabel's room at some point, now that I think about it."

"Mabel?" I asked, surprised. "You mean, Jeeves' niece? The one that married Biffy?"

Elizabeth shot me another dashed confused look similar to the one she bestowed on the Wooster person downstairs in the kitchen. "Mabel was Maggie's daughter."

"Maggie?" I asked.

"Our elder sister," she said. "How do you know Mabel?"

"Well, I know her husband, better than I know her, actually. Jeeves put together a real wheeze to get Biffy out of marrying Honoria Glossop in order so that he could be reunited with his one true love."

The scales fell from her eyes, and she nodded, smiling a little. "That sounds like Reggie. He has a singular way of playing matchmaker."

"He does?" I asked, rather surprised at this. "He's always helped me beetle out of any engagements I seem to get tangled up in."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at me. "Engagements?"

"It seems I have terrible luck with women who want to marry me, and being the _preux chevalier_ that I am, I don't want to hurt their feelings. So, Jeeves helps me oil out of them somehow. He's truly a wonder."

She smiled. "He is at that. Did he say anything about how you and the girl in question are never suited for each other?"

"Quite often, actually," I said with no little surprise. "I say, has he done the same for you? Get you out of marrying some fathead or other?"

Elizabeth's smile turned a trifle smug. "He broke up a relationship of mine because he said we weren't suited, and then he made it up to me by introducing me to Charles."

"Is he a gentleman?" I asked, rather curious. "Your husband, I mean, not Jeeves."

"Of course he is," she said with a smirk. "But if you mean is Charles one of the idle rich, no. He owns a men's clothing shop."

"Then what was that business earlier about Jeeves not calling him by his first name?"

"Which Jeeves?" Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows lifting.

I stared at her, a bit nonplussed, if that's the word I want. "Your brother. Not Edward, the other one."

"Reggie?" She smiled. When I nodded, she looked at me curiously, like a whatzit about to ask one of their legendary riddles. Some Egyptain chap, or beazle -- I can never remember which it is. "Why don't you call him by his first name?"

I blinked. "He introduced himself to me as Jeeves, so Jeeves shall I call him. I think it's one of the rules of the Ganymede club he belongs to, or some such, though I've never thought to try it."

"Why not?" she persisted, folding her arms across her chest. Now, when a beazle folds her arms thusly, it's usually a sign that trouble looms on the horizon, and if a chap has enough grey matter, they'd watch what they say, but she didn't seem upset. Maybe it's because I've had so much experience parsing out Jeeves' moods that I was able to tell with his sister, but I've made bloomers before when dealing with the fairer s.

"Until recently, I didn't even know he _had_ a first name," I said honestly. "Jeeves is a whatzit, his wonders to behold. I'm just dashed lucky that he's decided to stay on with me instead of moving to greener pastures."

"Why do you say that?" she asked. "Has he gotten offers?"

"Of course, he's gotten offers, old prune!" I laughed a light one. "But he's always refused for whatever reason. The only times he's ever left me was over a trombone, and I learned my lesson sharpish after that, and when he left my service so as to get me out of jail."

"Jail?" Her eyes widened to the size of tea saucers.

I nodded in the affirmative. "I was about to face twenty-eight days without the option before Jeeves stepped in and decided to voluntarily leave me so as to get the charge dropped."

"So, all the stories he's told me were true?" she asked.

"All what stories?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

"We've written to each other for years, and every once in a while, he'd talk about something that had happened to 'his employer'. I thought he'd been making up funny stories to keep my mind off the trash that comes in every once in a while at the office, but I had never thought they were true."

I groaned a loud one. "First, that dratted club book and now you? I really must have a talk with him."

"Club book?" she asked, frowning.

I outlined the details to her of the Junior Ganymede Club Book and its theft, and when I finished, I was sitting on the bed and she in the desk chair, her laughing gaily while I sucked on a gasper, trying to remember if I'd left anything out. While I'm not necessarily keen on telling my secrets to all and sundry, if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right, and Elizabeth seemed to be a girl quite unlike Stiffy Byng, who takes blackmail to new heights every time I see her. By the end of the telling, Elizabeth was shaking her head and giggling.

"I haven't laughed like that in a long time, Mister Wooster, thank you," she said.

I grinned from ear to e. "Think nothing of it, old thing. And please, call me Bertie."

"Only if you call me Lizzie," she returned. "If you're here to give Reggie support, the least we can do is welcome you to the family."

I blinked. "Eh, what?"

Lizzie snorted, looking amused. "In case you hadn't noticed, Reggie tends to be... self-sufficient. You're his boss, and yet you're here. Using his own 'psychology of the individual' approach that he cherishes so much, it must mean he really trusts you with something this important to him. And anyone who's earned his trust is as good as family."

I found myself rather rooted to the spot. "I say, really?"

Lizzie nodded. "As Maggie was fond of saying, Reggie's a man of few words. And if actions speak louder than words, you're practically another brother."

She glanced at a clock that was resting on the table next to the bed and winced. "Oh, dear. I should really be getting back to the kitchen. Dinner should be ready soon. And again, if you need anything--"

"I'll nose around, see if I can't figure something out, what," I cut in, giving her a smile. With a last farewell, she beetled out.

Dinner was served about twenty minutes later, and the house was a-buzz with the comings and goings of relatives that had already come ashore from the bout of snow happening out-of-doors. Biffy and Mabel had made it in, and Biffy and I exchanged a few words before we sat down to dinner.

I don't know if you've ever found yourself dining with good middle-class stock, but the experience was certainly memorable. Whereas dinner at Totleigh Towers or Ditteridge Hall would have been conducted in near-silence, with the occasional spasm of remarks about the weather, the dinner table at the old Jeeves homestead was a riot of noise and laughter loud enough to rival the common room at the Drones Club. The youngest Jeeves, a little chap by the name of Paul refused to eat his carrots to my right while to my left, at the head of the table, sat Jeeves himself, his gaze roaming over the members gathered with something that I could only describe as an approving, fatherly eye. There was barely enough room for me to cut into my serving of steak and potatoes, Paul had decided to take up squalling his displeasure right into my ear, there were at least three conversations being conducted at once, and I'll be dashed if I have had a more enjoyable time partaking of the juiciest.

It was dashed odd to see Jeeves sharing the same table as me, I must admit. He usually takes his meals in the kitchen, and when I first hired him, I had imagined that he didn't eat at all, or do other things that mere mortal man must. But there he was, picking at his vegetables while listening to his sister as she described some horror that had happened at the office where she worked as a secretary involving a barrister, a five-pound note, and a dog.

"It rather reminded me of the time when you convinced Maggie that she was hearing the ghost of a cat that used to live here," Lizzie said, covering her mouth as she started to giggle.

I saw the corner of Jeeves' mouth twitch just a little. "I suspect that our sister knew the truth of the situation, and allowed the animal to remain in residence until it was old enough to live on its own."

"I say, what's this?" I chimed in, intrigued. "When did this happen?"

Jeeves looked like a stuffed frog, but Lizzie grinned at me impishly. "It was about a year before Maggie got married, so she must have been about nineteen, which made Reggie about nine."

I looked at my valet with new eyes. "I say, you were tricking your elder sister into allowing you to keep a cat when you were _nine_?"

"As I said, sir," Jeeves said, the cough like a sheep correcting a wayward lamb on its arithmetic in his voice, "my sister was more than likely aware that we were keeping a kitten against our father's wishes."

"Where did your mother fall on the cat/no-cat debate?" I asked.

Lizzie's smile sloshed a little before it tried to stay on the map. "She died just after giving birth to me, I'm afraid. Maggie raised us herself while our father was working."

"I say, frightfully sorry about that," I apologized, feeling more than a little cheesy for asking.

Lizzie shook the bean. "No, Bertie, it's all right. You didn't know." Her smile slipped off again. "I guess you could say that Eddie and I are losing our mother for the first time now, really. We were both too young to really remember her, so Maggie was all we ever knew."

I saw her hand tremble as she set down the fork and knife, and on her other side, Edward paused in his conversation about the one horse he'd raised that made it to the Grand National to reach over and take Lizzie's hand in his. I glanced over at Jeeves, but his dial was about as blank as a grandfather clock.

For the rest of dinner, and well into the night, I was regaled in other misadventures that Jeeves had been involved in, and quite a few of them that he'd masterminded. While the man himself sat still as a statue, Lizzie and Eddie took turns talking about Jeeves' exploits, from the time when they'd gotten separated from Maggie at a carnival and Jeeves had tricked various vendors into giving them treats so they would calm down all the way up to the time when a seventeen-year-old Jeeves had masterminded a dashed good revenge on a boy who had trifled with his little sister's affections.

After breaking open a bottle of some particularly good wine, and having a drink or two, I retired for the night. Jeeves tucked me in as per usual, and I drifted off to the dreamless without protest.

It was abominably early when I awoke the next morning to feet pounding up and down the stairs, despite the fact that the room Jeeves and I shared was the furthest away from the staircase. Breakfast passed by in something of a daze, if that's the word I'm groping for, and I'm sure I said something unintelligible when interrogated about how well I slept. I vaguely remember Jeeves mentioning something about the typical sleeping habits of one Wooster, B. but whatever he'd said went in one e. and out the other.

When I regained some of my vim and v. a few hours later, various aunts and uncles were pouring in. I smiled and shook hands with them, introducing myself as Jeeves' employer (though I'm sure one of his aunts came away from the conversation firmly convinced I was off my nut). Lizzie manned the tea tray along, hugging various aunts and uncles and cousins and whatnot while Eddie had a drink or two with a few of the older generations on the back porch.

Jeeves, for the most part, had been marshaling the troops like a sergeant-major on the eve of battle. Cousins and whatnot were pressed into service. Or is that conscripted? The one where you don't have much of a choice, and if you try to buck, you risk the wrath of a valet in his element. Whatever the word is, that's what happened to cousins who weren't doing anything important. Before my eyes, while Eddie shook hands with neighbors, thanking them for the food, the covered dishes were accepted, arranged, and laid out on the dining table for the relatives to nibble on at their leisure, with any leftovers disappearing into the kitchen, their fates quite unknown to me.

As I watched him steer various relatives out of the way of the kiddies running a-muck, I was surprised to notice that Jeeves was wearing his valet uniform. I probably shouldn't have been -- the black jacket and trousers met the requirements of 'grieving family member' -- but it gave me the unnerving feeling that I was watching Jeeves at work, instead of sharing his grief with his family. Instead of washing dishes or fishing me out of the soup, he was seating elderly aunts who smiled up at him, and making sure that luggage that had been brought was clearly labeled and set aside with the coats and hats and whatnot, ready to take at a moment's notice if an uncle found he was needed elsewhere in a hurry.

Lunch and teatime passed in a flurry, and dinner had become a standing-room-only affair, with the aged relatives taking what seats could be spared, and the rest of us standing around like guests who'd crashed a formal dinner party without realizing that we were supposed to dress for the occasion. I managed to chat with Biffy for a bit -- I asked after the family, he asked after the Drones Club members that he could remember off-hand -- but after a quarter of an hour, the fairly s-something mood getting to me. Sad? No, it wasn't sad, but it was fairly close to it. Somber. That's the word I wanted. The somber mood got to me, and I fled to the room I was sharing with Jeeves, feeling particularly glad that Jeeves had thought to pack a few of the fruitiest Agatha Christies along for my perusal.

I'm not sure how long I stayed in my fortress of solitude, but when the door opened, I looked up to find Jeeves. This isn't that unusual -- Jeeves usually shimmers in without my being aware of it, but this had to be the first time that I'd ever actually noticed his appearance at my side. If that fact alone hadn't impressed upon me the seriousness of the situ., Jeeves breathed in deeply enough to move his barrel-like chest, and his hair looked distinctly mussed. To the untrained e., there were only a few hairs out of place, and Jeeves looked as poised and serious as he always does, but my eye had been trained on him for years. Such a lapse in his physical appearance was worrying.

Upon spying me, Jeeves' spine straightened as though an iron bar had run the length of it, but I waved a hand airily, hoisting myself off the bed and standing up to face him. "Take the bed, Jeeves. I daresay you need it more than I."

"That is unnecessary, sir." He tried to sound like himself, but it almost made _me_ tired just listening to him. "I will be returning downstairs shortly."

"Jeeves, you look bally well exhausted," I protested hotly. "Take a load off before you fall flat on your face."

Jeeves paused for a moment, his eyebrow lifting a precise eighth of an inch. "Is that an order, sir?"

I drew myself up, giving him a haughty look. "Now, see here. You know as well as I that I came here as a friend, and not your employer."

"Very good, sir."

"Don't 'sir' me, Jeeves," I growled. "As your friend, I'm telling you that you should jolly well sit down before I have an embarrassing story of my own to tell about you to your siblings."

Jeeves stared at me, and for a moment, I rather wondered if I'd gotten something stuck in my teeth. I asked him, and he assured me that I hadn't.

"I say, Jeeves, really," I said, at something of a loss. "Shouldn't you rest up a bit? You've been running round like a devil possessed, or something similar."

"I will be fine in a moment, sir," he said.

I shot him a thoroughly disappointed look, and I meant for it to sting not a little. "That's the answer I've been getting from all sorts of Jeeveses tonight, dash it. Even your Aunt Matilda from Maiden Eggesford said that she was fine, and she has a hip that aches during snowstorms." I shook the melon. "Your older sister has just _died_ , Jeeves. If it were my sister, I would hardly be 'fine'. In fact, I would be anything _but_ fine, and I'd be half-tempted to throw some sort of ceramic terrier like Aunt Dahlia does when she's upset."

I moved in closer, and rested my hands on his shoulders. "Jeeves. I watched you all day doing everything except talking to people. And before you interrupt," I said quickly, "giving orders to the troops doesn't count."

I could see that the wheeze was having little effect. With a sigh, I framed his face with my hands and looked him square in the eye. "It's all right to be like everyone else, Jeeves. I don't think Maggie would have begrudged you that." To rather punctuate the point -- if punctuate is the word I want -- I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips against his.

I'd only meant for it to be a gesture between friends. Despite a certain amount of attraction to my valet which had started due to his peerless intelligence and his devotion to this Wooster in particular, I had always given it up as a lost cause due to the fact that Jeeves had never seemed like he needed that sort of companionship, if you take my meaning. He's had 'understandings' in the past, but it rather seemed that the beazles didn't understand the bally situation whatsoever, and when he was free of said u.s, he was hardly the worse for wear at the end of the day. Even under the young master's lips now, Jeeves had been as stiff and unresponsive as the marble statue I've described him as being similar to at times.

What I hadn't expected was the veritable conflagration I'd apparently started. After hearing something like a growl that a lion would've made after being deprived of the choice cuts of gazelle or steak or whatnot, two arms locked around me like steel bands, and I was being kissed like nothing existed in the world except for the two of us.

While I'm not such hot stuff in the mental department, I can act quickly when I've a mind to, and upon finding my corpus pressed against Jeeves', his tongue tangling with mine in ways that made me wonder what else that tongue was bally well capable of, I shoved the fingers of one h. into Jeeves' hair and gave the kiss as much gas as I could muster.

Jeeves' hips did something that still makes me dizzy to think about, and then, just as suddenly as the kiss had started, his lips ripped away from mine, and I found myself staring up into large blue eyes, dark with something dangerous and alluring, if alluring is the word I want. I was panting like a bellows like Jeeves stared, his lips parted just a little.

"Jeeves?" I said, my voice rasping before I cleared my throat. "I say, Jeeves."

Jeeves shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

I shook the onion. "Don't apologize, Jeeves. And there's no use calling me 'sir', not after giving me a kiss like that."

Jeeves paused for a moment, looking even more disheveled and kissable with his hair mussed further. "Very well." I heard the unspoken 'sir' at the end of the sentence, so I shot him as disapproving a look as I could manage, under the circs. "I must insist, however--"

I reached out, and pressed a finger against Jeeves' lips. I don't know who was more surprised by the move, Jeeves or self. Remembering what he'd said about returning downstairs, and remembering what I'd said about his needing rest, I kept on. "You need rest, and you bally well can't manage that if we have to talk for a goodish while through the night about this. We'll talk more after we return to the flat, what?"

Unable to answer with my f. pressed against his l., Jeeves still gave it the old college try. "Very good, sir."

I nodded, politely ignoring the 'sir' that had snuck in. "Now, the young master insists that you take at least five, if not ten, and take a load _off_." When it looked like Jeeves was about to object, I cut him off at the knees. "And it's no use objecting, Jeeves. I'll order you, if I must."

Jeeves considered this for a mo before finally giving up the ghost. What I mean to say is that I tugged at his broad shoulders, and steered him in the direction of the bed. Now, mind, I didn't have nefarious designs on my gentleman's personal gentleman -- the man had lost a dear relative of his recently, and he'd been working himself to the bone to make sure things ran smoothly. What he needed was the forty winks that were coming to him, though I was rather surprised that he'd let me commandeer him (if commandeer is the word I want) to the bed. Jeeves is actually a bit larger than self, and if he had decided to object to the suggestion, all he needed to do was stop me.

After dribbling him between the sheets and wrestling off his shoes with some difficulty -- who knew valets' shoes were so dashed difficult to remove? -- I tucked him in as best as I could and watched him for a moment. His eyes slipped closed, and from what I could tell, he was off to the dreamless with nary a sound.

Suddenly remembering that he'd been needed downstairs, I ankled on down, only to find Eddie and Lizzie seated at the small table in the kitchen, and what relatives that had stayed the night, instead of legging it to the nearest hotel, were all passed out in the living room. Uncle Somebody appeared to be sacked out under the dining table, of all places. When I entered the kitchen, Eddie and Lizzie looked up, and almost collectively sighed in relief at seeing me.

"Is there something we can do for you, Bertie?" Eddie asked.

I waved at him to sit back down. "No, no, don't get up. I'm quite all right, but I had to order Jeeves to bed. He was looking distinctly green around the gills, and if you've known him as long as I have, it makes one worry not a little."

Brother and sister traded a look before looking at me again. "So, he's finally resting?" Lizzie asked. After a nod of the bean, the sibs. visibly unclenched.

Eddie nodded firmly, as though the best thing for it was to lay Jeeves out like nine-pins. "Good. He's been running everyone ragged, including himself."

"He looked rather unkempt when I saw him," I agreed. "But, he said that he'd been planning to beetle back down. Was there anything you two needed help with? Dishes to disappear, kiddies to herd?"

Eddie shook his head. "You've really done more than enough for us, Mister Wooster," he said. "We already can't thank you enough for your help."

"Think nothing of it, old prune," I dismissed with a light laugh. "And please, call me Bertie."

Lizzie watched the exchange with a smile. "As much as we appreciate the help, Bertie," she said, "there wasn't really anything else we needed. I'm sure that Reggie would have found something to do, but he's already had too little sleep as it is."

"Lizzie," Eddie said with a note of rebuke in his tone. "Bertie's his employer, not his guardian. Reggie's a grown man, after all. If he can't sleep with all of the funeral arrangements that need to be made, then he can't sleep. It'll catch up to him sooner or later."

Eddie shot Lizzie what I can only describe as a quelling l., but Lizzie, in the fashion of girls the world over, ignored it. "If he slept at all last night, I should be surprised. He always tended to need less sleep than the rest of us, but he's been pushing himself too hard."

I beamed. "Ah, but as his employer, I was able to bully the fruit into bed. He should be catching up on his allotment of forty as we speak."

Eddie smiled back at me, but Lizzie looked singularly unimpressed. "Have commands ever stopped him in the past, Bertie?"

"Lizzie," started Eddie.

"No, Eddie," she returned warmly. "Now that Maggie's gone, Reggie thinks that he has to take up the burden. She was always the one who took care of funerals in the past, and if he's feeling the loss half as much as I am now that we're arranging _her_ funeral, he's going to stop at nothing."

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face with a hand. "I know, Lizzie, but he's our elder brother. It's not like he's going to listen to us." He checked a clock and sighed again. "I'm sorry, but today's really been a bit much. If you two will excuse me." With that, he kissed Lizzie on the cheek and nodded to me before buzzing off.

Lizzie watched after him with a sigh. "There has to be something we can do for him."

"For Eddie?" I asked, a bit confused. "Maybe forty of the best will help him see the bright side come morning."

She shook the melon. "No, I meant Reggie. He's going to tear himself to pieces if he keeps going on like this. The funeral's going to be tomorrow, and then there's settling her affairs."

"I say, you're going to pop old Maggie into the ground tomorrow?" I asked. "I say."

Lizzie shot me a curious look. "Have you attended many funerals, Bertie?"

"One or two," I admitted. "Though I was a tyke when my parents died, and the only other one was my uncle, who popped off when I was nineteen." 

The girl blinked. "Oh, dear. I didn't realize."

"No, no," I said, waving a hand a. "Think nothing of it. Into each life, a few clouds must fall, what?"

Lizzie continued giving me a rummy sort of look, but I couldn't pin down what kind of a look it was.

"You know, you touched on the subject of how to make Jeeves feel better," I said quickly. "Any corkers come to mind?"

Lizzie left off her examination of the Wooster map, and frowned. "Not particularly, unless it involves tying Reggie down to a bed and making him stay there."

"Ah, but the valet will kick, old thing," I said. "Oh, what's that bally saying? The one about how if you can't beat them, do something else with them?"

"Join them?" Lizzie offered.

"That's the baby, yes," I agreed with a smile. "If he's going to insist on running himself ragged, why not make the running a bit easier, what?"

Lizzie's eyes narrowed, rather reminding me of those times when I'm wearing something Jeeves doesn't approve of, and he's thinking of the first opportunity he can abscond with the article in question and get away with it. "What do you mean?"

"Well, after he gets his forty, why not give him breakfast in bed, what? It'll make getting him ready for the day a bit quicker."

She considered this for a few ticks, but she frowned again. "The trouble is, I'd prefer if my brother _didn't_ wear himself down with all that's going on."

"Have commands ever stopped Jeeves before?" I asked her.

She looked at me and chuckled a little. "No, I don't suppose not, though I must object to you using my own logic against me."

"I'm sure I'll make it up to you somehow," I said. "Now, if I'm to bring the eggs and b. to him when he wakes, I wonder if I might ask for some help. I'm absolute rubbish when it comes to the kitchen, but it would be a nice turnaround for me to wait on him for a change. I mean, we've managed it before, what with my friend Bingo Little falling for a Communist some time ago, but it's not the same thing, really."

Lizzie gave me yet another of those significant looks, and she shook her head. "Bertie, you're a treasure."

"Oh, not really," I objected. "Well, not if you asked any of my aunts, at least. They'll be sure to give you the goods on Wooster, B. in no time flat."

Lizzie snorted. "I'm sure they would, if they're anything like the ladies I've met at the office."

"So, you'll do the breakfast thing for me?" I asked hopefully. "If I try my hand at it, I'm sure to give Jeeves food poisoning or something."

She laughed a light one. "While food poisoning is an attractive thought for making Reggie stay put, I see what you mean." Her laughter died down to a sunny smile. "Not to worry. I'll come up with something."

A few hours later, and a few winks for self, Lizzie and I were able to make good on our plan. Jeeves was just barely coming to when I trooped into the room, hands full of breakfast tray, and to see the surprised look on his face was more than worth it. Jeeves ate his breakfast while I nattered on about some Christmas invitations that I'd received from various members of the Drones Club, and I'd even laid out a black number that must have been consigned to the mothballs at some point, because I don't ever remember seeing him wear it before.

He gave one of those rummy coughs, and when I glanced at him, he shook the bean. "If you would lay out my uniform, sir, I would be most appreciative."

"You've been wearing that dashed thing for the past two days, Jeeves," I pointed out. "You're not on duty, and you've been running 'round like a sergeant-major marshaling the troops. Today's the funeral, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then you'll leave off the uniform and wear something appropriate. Black's appropriate for funerals, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." I nodded. "So, get dressed and we'll meet the clan downstairs at the breakfast table."

After we made it downstairs, the two of us rather resembling penguins in the Arctic -- or was that Antarctic? Well, whichever Arctic it was, we resembled penguins from that general vicinity, and things were soon underway. I have trouble remembering all of the details of the day. There were a lot of Jeeveses and Jeeveses-by-marriage, and quite a few of them were more than a little soggy. Mabel was taking it especially hard, as it was her mother that she'd lost, but Biffy and I were able to help her mop the dial with our handkerchiefs, and keep her company.

It had snowed sometime during the night, because when we headed for the church, there was a good deal of the white around to ensure that Christmas this year would be rather festive. The clan piled into what cars were available, with a few cabs along to pick up the stragglers. The church was nearly as cold as it was outside. The service was nice enough, with the vicar going on about good souls being lost so young and whatnot. I started to lose the thread halfway into the first paragraph, I'm afraid, but Jeeves was there, and he was listening to everything the man was saying.

The eu-thingummies were rather nice, each sibling taking a turn to say a few kindly words on their sister's behalf. Lizzie was well into tears before she finished, and Eddie was distinctly choked up halfway through his wheeze, but Jeeves stood at the pulpit as though he belonged there. He recounted Maggie's life, her trials, tribulations and other assorted whatnot, as though he were a Greek orator (if Greeks were the ones who orated at the drop of a hat), and by the end of his speech, there was a hush over the room, interrupted every once in a while by a baby crying or an aunt blowing her nose.

Then Jeeves and Eddie, and a few other male relatives moved forward, each of them taking what bit of the coffin they could and carrying it outside. It got to the point where there wasn't nearly enough coffin to go 'round, and the ones who'd been late starting out of the gate had settled for touching what they could of the pine box.

The trip to the graveside was conducted in total silence, though I was a bit surprised at how there were a few murmurs in the mob as we headed for the cemetery behind the church. Jeeves led the way at the head of the box, his derby and shoulders dusted with white as he walked behind the vicar. The rest of the clan looked distinctly uncomfortable in the snow, but Jeeves stood alone, his cheeks rosy from the cold, his eyes glittering with intelligence. If I hadn't already given the heart to him a long time ago, I daresay that I would have given it to him then and there.

Soon, the casket was lowered, and the vicar said a few words. I'd managed to oil my way through the crowd until I was standing at Jeeves' side, and the vicar got to the ashes-to-ashes part, I found my hand reaching out of its own accord to clasp Jeeves'.

The fingers were stiff under mine, though from the cold or the surprise of the gesture, I couldn't say. I squeezed once, and was about to let go when I felt the strong fingers squeeze back.

I leaned over and whispered, "Still here, old fruit."

"Thank you, sir," Jeeves whispered back. When I looked at his face, his eyes were distinctly red.

The service finished with each of the clan dropping off a rose and shoveling a handful of dirt. I added a double-handful myself under Jeeves' watchful eye, and soon, the mob was trickling back to the cars and cabs, ready to buzz off for the after-funeral festivities. I lost sight of Jeeves fairly soonish, and when I got back to the homestead after dropping off Aunt Matilda at her hotel, the house was still awash with humanity, if that's the turn of phrase I want.

"Excuse me, sir," Jeeves materialized at my elbow, producing a small envelope. "Mrs. Miller tells me this arrived for you during the service."

Frowning, I ripped open the missive and winced. "It looks like Tuppy and Angela have had another dust-up, Jeeves. Aunt Dahlia requests my presence at Brinkley Court, and sharpish." I shot him a worried l.

"Indeed, sir?" Jeeves said, looking concerned.

"Indeed," I said with a nod. "Would you mind sending my things along?"

"Very good, sir," Jeeves said with a nod. "Have a safe trip, sir."

I nodded, grabbing my lid and popping it on. "I'll try, Jeeves. I'm sorry I'll going to miss more of the proceedings."

Jeeves shook his head. "If you'll pardon my saying so, sir, the remainder of the business to be conducted are primarily administrative matters concerning the dispensation of my sister's estate."

I shot him a rummy look. "Try to get some sleep, won't you?"

Jeeves drew himself up a bit. "Very good, sir."

With that, I legged it to the car and buzzed off.

I got to Brinkley Court, home of my Aunt Dahlia, her husband Tom Travers, my cousin Angela, and the peerless chef Anatole, whose name has been known to cause mouths to water at a moment's notice. When I presented self to the aunt for inspection and asked what the dust-up had been that had broken the engagement yet again, Aunt Dahlia informed me in a booming voice that could be heard three counties over that no such dust-up had occurred, though it was only a matter of time now that the Wooster had darkened her doorstep.

It was then that I had realized Jeeves had sent me off on a wild goose whatzit.

After explaining the circs to Aunt Dahlia, she very kindly gave me luncheon and informed me that Jeeves had wanted me out from underfoot while the family affairs were set to rights. Stung at having been a bother to Jeeves during his time of n., I ended up biffing off homeward the day after this revelation, and staying in my flat for the next few days. We Woosters can rough it with the best of them, though I must admit that I infinitely preferred Jeeves' cooking to my own burnt or underdone offerings.

It was Christmas day when Jeeves returned to the flat, looking the worse for wear, though he looked rather natty in the tweed number he was wearing. His hair was slicked to its usual shining perfection, but his eyes, nose, and ears were looking distinctly reddish. He hung up his derby and put away the luggage before shimmering in and setting the place to rights. I tend to be messy in my habits, and when Jeeves isn't 'round to pick up after the young master, it shows in a distressingly short amount of time.

After he finished, he presented a whiskey and s. to the young master. "I trust the past few days have been restful, sir?"

I accepted the glass moodily, and looked up at him. "You didn't have to ship me off to my Aunt Dahlia's, Jeeves. If I was underfoot, you could have said as much."

"My apologies, sir," Jeeves said, "but I did so in a desire to spare you the tedium of dividing my sister's estate. While she did not have a will, Margaret had expressed certain wishes before she passed on, and we were attempting to follow her wishes as closely as possible."

I snorted a good one. "That's all well and good, but what's the point of being there for you if you're going to trick me into biffing off places when it seems the going might be rough? I say, if a man can't stand by his friend through thick and t., what bally use is he?"

Jeeves nodded. "I see what you mean, sir."

"And," I added, giving him a firm look, "if a chap isn't at his loved one's side, he should be."

"Sir," Jeeves said, sucking in air through his nose, "allow me to apologize again for my lapse in judgment. If you wish to receive my resignation in writing--"

"No, Jeeves," I said sharpish. "Speak no more of resignations. I kissed you first, after all, so if any blame is to be laid at anyone's feet, it should be at mine. I'd meant to give comfort during a time of woe, but I jolly well boxed the thing, didn't I?"

I could see that Jeeves was champing at the bit to interrupt, but I shook the melon. "While I had intended the gesture to be brotherly, I'll admit to a greater amount of feeling on my part than perhaps an employer should have for his gentleman's personal gentleman, but I don't regret that. We've been through too much, old fruit, and you could have put the foot down concerning the young master attending the funeral with you, but you didn't. Lizzie says that I'm practically family already, just by my presence alone at the Jeeves homestead."

I moved in closer, looking up at him with clear, blue eyes.

"Sir," Jeeves murmured, his voice warm and rich like hot cocoa on a cold day.

"When we first met, you were the epito-whatzit of your profession, and you still are. But now..." I hesitated. Would he want to hear this at all? That he had been taken down a peg or two in my eyes, but was all the more wonderful because of it? Looking up into his eyes, dark blue and searching, I jumped in with both feet.

"I love you, Jeeves, and I think I have for quite some time. It wasn't until I saw you looking bally well exhausted that I thought perhaps that maybe you might be able to return the sentiment."

Jeeves continued to stare into my eyes for a long moment, and then he kissed me.

It was a goodish time later that I remembered that I'd had a gift to give to Jeeves that wasn't the usual tome of philosophy. "Jeeves!" I cried, starting from the bed and making for the living room. "Your present!"

Jeeves emerged from the bedroom a moment later, wearing a dark blue robe that rather set off his eyes, and watched as I plucked the brightly-wrapped box and deposited it in his hands.

"Merry Christmas, Jeeves," I said with a smile, waiting for him to open the gift.

"Merry Christmas, sir," he replied before eying me. "If I might suggest that you put a robe on, sir?"

I glanced down at self, and realized I was wearing nary a stitch. "Oh. Right. Well, hold off on ripping the paper asunder, at least until I get something on. I want to see what you think of it first thing."

I biffed off to the bedroom, and after having thrown on the pajamas, I re-entered the room to find that Jeeves had taken the opportunity to don the uniform. While I was sad to see the rather corking flesh covered up, there's a certain _je nais se quoi_ of Jeeves in his element that rather does something to the young master.

"May I open the present, sir?" Jeeves asked, and I'll be dashed if there was the hint of a light laugh in his words.

"You may," I said in a magnanimous fashion -- if magnanimous is the word I want. "Tear asunder the paper and have at, Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir." Jeeves nodded, taking apart the paper at the seams with more care and deliberation than I've usually seen. Most chaps, upon receipt of a new whatzit, are apt to tear into the paper like a mountain lion or snow leopard feasting upon some unfortunate deer or rabbit or whatnot. Jeeves, on the other h., appeared to be dismantling a bomb of some sort.

When he finally unearthed the box, and the pocket watch from within the box, he paused, staring at it with no little surprise. To all and sundry, he would have resembled a stuffed frog, but to me, he was an open book.

"Open the lid, Jeeves," I suggested, unable to stop grinning from ear to e.

He did so, and stared at the inscription. "To Jeeves. Let us swear an eternal friendship," he read aloud.

I chewed the lower lip. "I must admit that I'd gotten it engraved before you'd heard that your sister passed on. And, well, we'd already swore that we'd remain together for as long as we both shall live, in a way, what with you removing those pages from the club book, and my never wanting you to leave my employ, and all that. I mean to say--"

Jeeves gently closed the lid on the pocket watch and tucked it away into a pocket before turning back to me. "I'm deeply moved, sir," he murmured. "Thank you."

"Not at all, Jeeves," I whispered as he kissed me again. 

 


End file.
